


You're Awful

by sweetproserpina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Frank Sinatra - Freeform, Gap Filler, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 23:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetproserpina/pseuds/sweetproserpina
Summary: Being a teenager is tough. It's even worse when you're sixteen year old Draco Malfoy, and you fall in love with someone you shouldn't.A oneshot inspired by the Frank Sinatra song, "You're Awful"





	You're Awful

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Frank Sinatra' s "Your Awful". Lyrics in italics.

 

_You're awful,_

_Awful good to look at.._

 

The train ride to Hogwarts was nauseating him. His head pounded and his black heart beat queerly inside his aching chest. He hated school, he hated his friends, he hated that ridiculous, ancient, muggle-loving Headmaster, he hated that vile, disgusting, snake of a Dark Lord, and he absolutely despised Ginevra Weasley.

 

Hate was an emotion with which he was entirely comfortable. He took a strange, twisted sense of pleasure in hating. He wore it like one of his fine wool cloaks. Which he also hated, when the stray thought of them entered his mind. They itched.

 

Ginevra Weasley. How he detested the way her too small robes clung to her small, curvy frame, and how her scarlet hair fanned out past her narrow shoulders. He had too often imagined how those same shoulders were probably covered with those disgusting freckles that covered the bridge of her nose and dusted along her cheeks. The way her small lips thinned into a crimson line in thought, and how her pink tongue slipped out to lick the dryness away. She was awful.

 

Ever since that encounter in Umbridge's office last spring, when she had caught him unaware with her lips, and then that god-awful Bat-Bogey Hex, he had hated her. Except when he didn't. And those thoughts disturbed him even more.

 

And now his friends were discussing her like a piece of of filet, and even Pansy, whose lap he was currently using for a pillow, was talking of her. Surely, they were joking. They were all disgusting, he thought. He thought all this, but his face, and his words revealed nothing, and he was glad of it.

  


_You're nothing,_

_Nothing if not lovely,_

_Nothing if not dazzling,_

 

She was a common, little piece of gutter trash, to be swept aside, and walked over and _thrown away_ with the rest of the rubbish. Why she intrigued him so, and why he bothered to look her up, he couldn't fathom, but Draco was studiously thorough. His father hadn't put that blasted diary in her cauldron on a whim. After all, a squib couldn't bring back the Heir of Slytherin.

 

She was top of her class in Charms, and she enjoyed inventing hexes and spells of her own design. Brilliant, cheeky bits of fun and skill. He had watched her occasionally at meal times, when she would show what she'd been working on to her friends. Clever witch.

 

And then when they were together, because he could only resist her for so long you understand, it was intoxicating.

 

Magic heavy in the air around them, both out of control and sparking wildly. When he admitted it to himself, which was rare, he recognized that he had never before felt that way, drunk and high on magic and _her_. It made him angry (anger, he knew) that that worthless speck could make him feel anything more than hate. But now that he had her, the both of them sneaking around darkened hallways and meeting in abandoned classrooms, he knew she was something, because without her what did his pathetic life amount to?

 

Nothing.

 

_You're frightening,_

_Frightening when you say that you might go away;_

 

He leaned over the chipped sink and cried. Sobbed and gasped at all the _feeling_ that gushed out of him. Releasing all the pent up rage, and hate, and despair that had brought him to this place in his life.

 

He was useless, and weak, and he reviled himself for it, but he couldn't get past it to protect his parents, and he had run out of time and options. The school year was almost over, and he was no more closer to killing the Headmaster than when he had begun the term. He was-

 

“Draco?”

 

It was a soft whisper in the darkness, a gentle caress meant to soothe the ache, and it turned his black heart into something that it should not be able to become.

 

He scrubbed his hand viciously over his face, hiding the ugliness, and stayed silent. What was there to say?

 

After long minutes of silence, where he tried to calm his laboured breathing, he felt her small, rough, hand on his pale arm, and tried without success to shrug it off.

 

“Should I go away?”

 

She kept her voice even and calm, as her hand drifted up to outline his cheek and chin. Trace his lips with her thumb and wipe away the remaining moisture from his skin.

 

He choked on the kindness, and the empathy. And then he knew exactly what he had to do, because above all, above everything, he believed himself to be selfish. So utterly selfish that he let his eyes drift closed in that moment and leaned into her warm hand and chose destruction.

 

_You're cheap, dear,_

_Cheap at any price dear,_

_Cheap for such a diamond,_

_Cheap for such a pearl._

 

For the hundredth time since he had arrived and been shunted into this small, dingy bedroom he questioned his sanity. After he had talked to the Headmaster under Veritaserum, he had been Side-Alonged to this hovel in London by his estranged cousin, of all people, when the other students had left for the summer holidays.

 

Draco wasn't going home because he'd be dead before the house-elves took his trunk. He'd failed in the eyes of that filthy, half-blooded, Dark Lord and it would cost him. He knew he would have to pay the price.

 

The Manor, the Estate, the Entail, the Vaults, gone. Everything but the name. At least for now.

 

He had needed a place to hide and that's what this was all about, really.

 

He read the piece of crumpled parchment she had given him yesterday in the hallway again and felt the tension easing. Had it really only been yesterday? It seemed like years since he had seen her properly, had kissed her soft, taunting, lips and ran his cold hands through her titian hair.

 

It was all her fault, this repulsive _lowering_ of himself.

 

To be sure, he wasn't doing this _for her_ , he was too selfish for that, but he was doing it _because of her_. He found justifying it to himself that way made him feel better about the whole horrible situation. He closed his eyes as his head pounded at the base of his skull, and he lay on his sagging cot as if it were his tomb; arms carefully laid along his sides, long, lean legs stretching out tidily, feet matched side by each, encased in expensive black leather. Was this death or rebirth he wanted?

 

He mentally shook himself at the thought.

 

There was no going back any longer. Only forward, forever forward, into whatever fate or destiny, or some such nonsense had determined for him. He hated-

 

No.

 

He struggled to push aside the hate and the anger that overwhelmed his thoughts daily.

 

Where had it ever gotten him?

 

Nowhere.

 

Horrible, nowhere places with no options and no life. A half-life, a shadow life perhaps, but that was all. It offered nothing. No light, no warmth, no Gin Weasley with red hair fanned out and dusty freckled shoulders. Gods, he loved those shoulders.

 

Darkness was distracting, and had been a distraction for far too long in his life, he mused pathetically. Now, he believed that perhaps this life could be changed. With clear thoughts, it could be managed and manipulated into a better outcome for himself. And really that's what mattered, wasn't it?

 

She was all about the greater good, he would often tease her about how very droll and Gryffindor she was, while he was all about what was good for them.

 

He meant him.

 

Where had that come from? He turned the thought over in his mind instead of dismissing it and then he heard the door open in the hall and the loud raucous voices of teenagers pouring into the house. He sat up suddenly and moved towards the door, leaning casually in the frame and drinking her in until she noticed his eyes on her.

 

His idle thoughts fled and he knew he would gladly throw away every gods-damned Knut he had ever had to be here safe with her.

  
  


_You're so-so,_

_So-so kinda charming,_

_So-so kind of witty,_

_So I can't explain!_

 

Honestly, what did Ginny see in the poncy git? It was sick-making, really, the way they carried on with each other. Ever since they had all piled into the hall at Grimmauld with their trunks and bags, and watched gobsmacked as his baby sister skipped over, as happy as you please, and snogged the ferret's brains out.

 

Right in the hallway! It was a good thing his mum had already gone straight through to the kitchen.

 

It was indecent, it was. Ron wanted to break the kid's jaw, but was duly held back by an equally astonished Harry and a somewhat less surprised Hermione while he spit obscenities at the pair, steam practically blowing from his ears.

 

It took a week until he could even be in the same room as her.

 

“Ron?” A hesitant voice whispered from the dark kitchen, “Is that you?”

 

He sighed and shuffled into the room, “Yeah Ginny, it's me. Whaddyawant?” He slumped into a chair at the long table, dreading the conversation that he knew was about to happen. He owed it to his sister to listen.

 

“I'm making hot chocolate, want one?” He perked up and saw that she had a pot already on the stove and was carefully pouring a steady stream of thick milk into it. She made delicious chocolate; Mum's secret recipe.

 

“Sure.”

 

She nodded in acknowledgement and continued with her task in silence until it was done, and two mugs were poured. The tension in the air hung heavy and it hurt, because he hated fighting with Ginny.

 

“So.”

 

“So.”

 

She took a moment to summon up that famous Gryffindor courage that ran through every Weasley since Merlin himself and spoke, “Look. I shouldn't have sprung us on you like that. I was just terribly relieved and I didn't stop to think. It wasn't fair to you to find out like that; I'm sorry. Truly.”

 

Her apology settled him a bit but he couldn't help looking at his sweet, little sister with a pained expression and took a deep calming breath,

 

“Malfoy, Ginny? Really? He was terrible to us. How can you even....It doesn't make any sense!” Ron burst out, it was what he'd been dying to say all week, careful to keep his hands clenched into fists on the table, trying to quell his temper. This was unbelievable, couldn't she see that?!

 

She quirked a grin in his direction, “I know. I know, it's crazy, and I'm completely mental, yeah?” She fiddled with her mug refusing to be baited, and looked down into the milky chocolate, smiling to herself.

 

“It took a long time, almost a year to get to where we are today. Me and him. When we first got together we'd get so angry at each other. Yell and say awful things.”

 

“Then why would you-” Ron interrupted, impatient.

 

“Because sometimes we didn't fight. He can be very charming and thoughtful when he wants to be.”

 

Ron snorted into his cup but wisely said nothing. It was her funeral.

 

“Look, I won't apologize for his past behaviour. He was a right prat for a lot of years, and frankly he's still a bit of a bastard,” she paused to chuckle. “But this past year he's had to make a lot of tough decisions. Stuff you and I can't ever imagine, and he's trying to figure it all out for himself. Not for his dad, or Tom, or what he thinks other people want him to do.”

 

“So, you're saying your boyfriend is a selfish bastard?” he muttered, “Great.”

 

The young woman snorted indelicately in response, then sobered.

 

Ginny looked right into her brother's bright blue eyes with a look of sincerity, “Yes, he's so selfish that he's given up everything he's ever known to defy Voldemort and..to be with me.”

 

“Why should I believe that? Why do you?” He spat, refusing to listen, “How do you know this isn't just some sick joke?” He swallowed hard, “I don't want you to get hurt Ginny, I love you!”

 

A tremulous smile spread across Ginny's face, “Oh, Ron, I love you too. You know I do, you're the best big brother a sister could want, and because I think so highly of you, I want you to trust me. Please.”

 

And then she looked at him with those wide eyes the colour of horse chestnuts, and her soft freckled face that had smiled up at him with such trust as a child and he was undone.

 

“Aww, Ginny, don't give me that look. I can't say no to that look....” Ron buried his face into his hands in defeat, “Fine. Fine, whatever. I trust you and your completely mental decisions. But I'm never going to like the pillock, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, that's fine, Ron.” She grinned, and pulled him into a quick, hard hug before sitting back down. “And thanks.”

 

After a few quiet minutes, Malfoy himself sauntered into the kitchen, glancing casually at Ron, before sliding a cultured hand along Ginny's narrow shoulders. Ron tensed, and watched in dismay as Ginny's whole body seemed to ease at Malfoy's simple touch and her face brightened.

 

“You made chocolate? Any left?” Malfoy asked, his voice sounding strange and different without the sneers and arrogance.

 

Ron took his mug and left the kitchen, deflated, as his mind tried and failed to understand his sister's attraction to the toff, and any motives behind their ridiculous relationship.

 

For two long months he observed, and weighed what he saw and frankly, it made him uncomfortable. The two of them were... happy. Disgustingly so.

 

Ginny, the sister he would do anything to protect, and would give the moon to if she asked, had been grinning all summer like a kneazle in cream. Because of.. ugh..him. It _was_ indecent.

 

Even now, at summer's end, they carried on with this bizarre ritual. Sitting cozily by the window playing a strange version of Exploding Snap they had invented, and laughing. Really laughing, and looking at each other with those eyes, and touching each other. Ginny beamed. Ugh. Sick-making.

 

The horrible truth was, though, that anyone who could make his beloved sister that happy, he knew had to be sorta okay somewhere deep, deep down. So, for his sister, he made an effort. Oh, Sod it.

 

“Oi! Malfoy!”

 

The blond snapped his attention over to where the trio were lounging, parchments and books surrounding them. Hermione was attempting to get the boys into finishing their summer school work before the train tomorrow, to no avail.

 

“Wizard's chess after you're done?”

 

A decisive nod of the head, “Sure,” and he turned back to his conversation with Ginny, reaching over the table to thread his slim, strong fingers through hers, as the cards in front of them exploded in a shower of blue sparks.

 

_Who needs you_

_Needs you to distraction,_

_Needs you till he's crazy,_

_Needs you rain or shine._

 

The pleasant clatter of the breakfast dishes in the Great Hall that morning warmed her. Her face glowed with giddy anticipation and her heart felt full to bursting underneath her threadbare robe. She loved school, she loved her friends, she loved her family, she loved Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, and she was madly in love, with Draco Malfoy.

 

Love was an emotion with which she was completely comfortable. She had known darkness and hate intimately, but had come out on the other side of it acutely aware of love, and she let it embrace every corner of her soul until there was nothing left but a pale memory of blackness.

 

Love was everywhere and in everything, even in her mum's knitted wool jumpers; warm, cozy, and well-meant. She loved to wear them because Mum's jumpers never itched.

 

Draco Malfoy. How she loved the way his posh robes clung to his lithe Quidditch trained figure, and how his pale, silken hair felt between her fingers. She had often threaded those same fingers through his own refined ones, and had let them drift contentedly over his hard planes and angular features. She loved the way she was surrounded by the heady magic that was _him_ and _his_ when he clung to her in passion and need. Above all though, she loved how he fought and struggled and _overcame_. He was extraordinary.

 

Ever since that encounter in Umbridge's office the spring before last, when she had caught him unaware with her lips, and then that wonderfully wicked Bat-Bogey Hex, she had desired him. Except when she shouldn't. There were a multitude of reasons why she shouldn't, but those just made her want him even more. They made him _need_ her love.

 

And now her friends were chatting blithely beside her, as she glanced across the Great Hall and saw him finishing up at the Slytherin table. He was not sitting in the middle with his usual crowd of hangers-on but with Zabini and Nott off to one end, and had been seriously conversing with them throughout the meal, sparing only a couple glances her way. It was all part of his new plan and Ginny brushed off any offence she might have felt. He needed to create his own future now, and with careful manoeuvres he would get exactly what he wanted. And she loved him for it.

 

Ginny Weasley had been an _accessory_ to Harry Potter. Something nice and pretty that went well with robes, but could be done without and could be taken off and on at will.

 

Ginevra Weasley was everything to Draco Malfoy. She was a partner, a strength, a foil, a lover, a challenge, and a retreat. He _needed_ her and it felt right to be needed by that smug, scared bastard who scowled and smirked while he tugged her closer and held on to her for dear life.

 

It was a Tuesday morning, the day after the Hogwarts Express emptied of students, when seventh year Draco Malfoy excused himself from the Slytherin table and crossed with confident steps to Gryffindor with a look of smug contentment on his face that made everyone swivel 'round to see what he was up to.

 

His warm breath tickled her ear as he dipped his head and whispered, “Ready to make a scene, dearest?”

 

She could hear the humour in his smooth voice and felt that familiar warmth spread through her again, and hummed her agreement, the snitches in her stomach flying in quick giddy circles. After a darting kiss to her fiery locks, Draco pulled her up with his cool, strong hands and wrapped an arm around her. He nodded distantly to the Golden Trio as the rest of students in the Great Hall were shocked into silence and then, before the explosion of shouts and gossip sounded, they strolled out of the Great Hall together.

 

Later they sat under a secluded willow by the lake, with his head pillowed on her lap. She ran her small, rough, hands through his pale hair, and she watched his eyes drift shut in pleasure, it was then that she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Draco Malfoy was the bravest person she'd ever known, and she was glad of it.

 

 


End file.
